


Twenty Dollar Nose Bleed.

by MCRmyKilljoySoldier



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Depression, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Gen, Guns, Paranoia, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:34:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1743233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MCRmyKilljoySoldier/pseuds/MCRmyKilljoySoldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom.” ― Edgar Allan Poe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Dollar Nose Bleed.

When Gerard first tried it out with his friends, all those years ago, he didn't think it would ruin his life the way it did. Barely sixteen years of age with a twenty dollar bill rolled up and shoved up into his right nostril, the powdered substance, cut with sugar and God-knows-what making its way into the teenager's bloodstream, he felt the rush and fell in love. His addictive personality's instincts kicked in, making the teenager snort a line or two while his friends cheered him on and laughed at his bloody nose which he wiped away shakily. It was behind a local bar, the group of teenagers huddled over a small baggie, their pupils dilated and the euphoria making its way into their bloodstreams. He remembered rolling the bill after forming a line of coke, avoiding the crack one of his friends was smoking. He remembered placing the rolled up bill into his right nostril, plugging the other with his left forefinger then snorting, the powder shooting up into his nose then snorted again, finishing up the line.

He remembered his eighteen year old self staying over at a friend's house, sleeve pulled up above his elbow and an excited look on his face as he wrapped a black band around his bicep, clenching his hand into a fist, trying to find the first vein he would ever pierce with a needle. His friend had tried the drug multiple times before, convincing the young adult that it was one of the best. Gerard listened, holding the needle with his teeth as sweat formed on his forehead. He remembered holding onto the cold needle then piercing the tip into the poor, swollen vein. The meth in the needle was now making its way into his bloodstream. In less than a minute, he felt the high, he felt like he was on top of the world.

He regretted it all.

Gerard regretted the very first line, the very first hit. It led him to a future he never wanted since he was a twenty year old drug addict, struggling to pay his debts while still trying to pay off his rent and finish art school. His old, shabby one bedroom apartment was all he had. His head was far too messed up and craved the powder, craved the rush, craved the euphoria. He couldn't hold a stable job or go to his family since he moved away and refused to acknowledge them or talk to them.

There was one person he wanted to talk to more than ever.

Gerard knew him for a long time, he was a man younger than Gerard yet more successful. Frank, was his name. He would always talk to Gerard and check up on him, and Gerard always took it for granted. The man was disposable, in his eyes. No one really cared for him, not even his own family, why would this person care?

Frank, was his name and now, Gerard longed to say it again. He wanted to scream out Frank's name so the other man could help him. Gerard was scared, the paranoia of the drugs finally catching up to him. The fact that his death was inevitable made him want to gouge his eyes out and bleed to death, just so the narcotics wouldn't be the cause of his death, his own hands would be.

He couldn't talk to Frank, though. The last time he did, he had yelled at the younger man to get out, almost hitting Frank with the green bottle in his hand as an attempt of kicking him out. Frank had looked at him with such disappointment, such sadness, it made his insides twist up though he didn't care at the time. He eventually realized his mistake, consoling himself with another line to ease his nerves.

Gerard was dying because of the self destruction. He was dying and he wouldn't stop, he depended on the substances that killed him the fastest, eating him up from the inside and tearing his mind to shreds. He was on the edge, the track marks were covering so many patches of skin, he was running out of space.

He was in his rotting apartment, his head clouded with shapes and images he couldn't comprehend, a dull tune playing though no source of music was present in the room. He knew his time was coming. Gerard was dying. He was dying due to the things he loved the most, though he loathed them with all his heart. He couldn't let the narcotics kill him. He was to die at his own will, not from another.

He sat in the middle of his run-down apartment, staring at the peeling wallpaper, revealing the yellowed, aged paint behind. The powder surrounded him and coated his bleeding nose, a twenty dollar bill on his lap. Various needles and their components littered the dirty floor he sat on, but he did not care. On his right, a lone pistol rested next to a cellphone he had cracked during one of his paranoid episodes.

Frank's contact name was on the screen, waiting to be called.

He held the phone with his left and gripped the gun tightly with his right, his hands shaking and his blue lips quivering. Stale beer and mold was all he could smell, a reminder of his current situation. His nimble, callused fingers pressed the 'call' button and sweat started to line his forehead and upper lip.

The phone rang while his heart pounded unsteadily like a hummingbird was trying to escape his blackened lungs. He was sure Frank wasn't going to pick up. Gerard had put him through hell. Every time Frank had let Gerard cry on his shoulder during one of his many attacks, it always ended with Gerard screaming at him, throwing things at him, yelling at him to get out or all of the above.

A soft voice spoke on the other side, making Gerard inhale sharply.

"Hello?"

"F-Frankie? I...I can't do this anymore. P-Please, can you come?" He whimpered, blinking away unshed tears.

He pressed the gun to his temple, the cold metal pressing into his skin, his shaking hands holding tight.

If Frank agreed to come, he would put the gun down. He would promise Frank that he would get better. He would boycott the drugs. He would stop it all.

If Frank disagreed on the other hand...

"Gerard..."

"Please?"

"Gerard, no."

Gerard gasped, his hold on the weapon turned into a vice grip, pressing it tighter into his temple, bruising the pale skin.

"What-"

"I said, no. I won't. Face it, Gerard, you tell me all about how you're going to get better, but you never do, and I'm sick of it. I'm tired and I'm stressed, you're making it hard for everyone. I'm just saying, I'm done. You have to deal with your own shit."

"F-Frank, please."

"Goodbye, Gerard-"

Before Frank could finish his sentence, Gerard had already decided.

One bang and one loud scream on the other side later, Gerard's blood decorated the decaying wall, pink tissue destroyed and scattered, with a corpse lying on the filthy floor, surrounded with the thing it loved and loathed the most with a cellphone lying next to it, a voice coming from it, screaming the corpse's name as loud as the voice could.

But it was too late.

Gerard was already gone. All because of a twenty dollar nose bleed.


End file.
